


Manhattan Moon

by bedlamsbard



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedlamsbard/pseuds/bedlamsbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Talking keeps her mind off the fact that Simon is putting a needle in her skin, stitching up the deep gash in her palm.</i> Inara and Simon, mid-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manhattan Moon

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Inara says as Simon leans over her hand. His hair is tousled from sleep; he’s only wearing a pair of light pants and a hastily pulled on shirt, barefoot in the infirmary.

“It’s all right,” he says, voice distant, the way she’s heard it go when he’s talking to patients, calm and controlled like he’s soothing a wild animal. He doesn’t want anyone to panic. “I’m on this ship for a reason. I’m happy to do this.”

In truth, Inara isn’t the one who bothered Simon at all. It was River who found her passed out on the floor of her shuttle, blood pooling around her and a broken glass next to her, and River who ran to get her brother. Now the girl is peering around the door of the infirmary, taking in the scene with wide eyes and no real interest.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Inara says. Talking keeps her mind off the fact that Simon is putting a needle in her skin, stitching up the deep gash in her palm. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“It happens to the best of us,” he murmurs. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t think it’ll scar,” he adds. “Just for a little bit – you might have a white line here.”

The gash cuts through her lifeline. She doesn’t want to think about that, even though she’s not, as a general rule, superstitious. Inara changes the subject.

“You’ve never had a problem with my profession,” she says. Most of _Serenity_ ’s crew has at one point or another for whatever reason.

“No,” Simon says, doing something with the needle and thread he’s using. “To be a Companion is to follow an ancient and honorable profession.”

“Have you known many?”

“A few. My grandmother – River’s and my grandmother – was one.”

Inara blinks. Simon has given her a mild sedative to dull the pain, so the reaction is delayed. “Really? Did you know her?” There are ways and way for Companions to avoid pregnancy, but even so, occasionally they fail. Sometimes the fathers raise the children. Sometimes the Guild chooses to raise them.

“Yes,” Simon says, but whatever he’s about to add is cut off by River saying, “She gave me my name.”

“Jordan Tam,” Simon says. “Her maiden name was Cho. She married my grandfather, my father’s father. I liked her.”

“She went away,” River says. “Floated away to join the dam. There’s a lake now.”

“She died the year River went to the Academy,” Simon interprets. “Don’t move. This may sting.”

It stings, but Inara doesn’t protest. “She left the Guild?”

“For love,” Simon says, and Inara nods. It happens like that sometimes. It’s not spoken of often, but there’s one or two every generation that do. She wonders if she’ll be one of them, someday. “She always spoke very highly of the Guild.”

“That’s good,” Inara says. Not all those who leave the Guild do.

“I’m going to bandage this,” Simon says, turning away towards the drawers. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, of course.” They’re a week out from their destination; Inara doesn’t have to worry about a customer seeing the bandage.

“Come see me when you need it off,” Simon tells her, pressing the bandage to the stitched up cut. “And if you feel dizzy at all – you lost a lot of blood.”

“Thank you,” Inara says, getting down off the table. She stumbles, and Simon catches her elbow to steady her. “I will.”

“I’ll walk you back,” he offers.

“That won’t –”

“I’ll help you clean up the blood and glass,” he says. He’s stronger than he looks; he picked her up and carried her back to the infirmary. Now his touch is light and unassuming, with exact pressure.

It would be rude to refuse. Inara might do so if it was Mal offering – but Mal wouldn’t offer, he’d do, and Simon isn’t Mal. “I won’t say no to that,” she says, smiling, and Simon smiles back.

 _Serenity_ is quiet around them; it’s late at night and there’s no one awake except the three of them, River trailing after them like a ghost. Simon escorts her like a gentleman, Inara’s small hand curled into the crook of his elbow, and they could be at any party, Dr. Simon Tam and Companion, Inara Serra. She wonders if he’s ever taken a Companion to a party, or if it’s always been someone from Society.

“Will this be expensive to replace?” he asks, both of them on their knees. Simon is carefully gathering up the pieces of broken glass as Inara wipes the blood from the carpet. Companions have the best cleaning supplies in the ‘verse.

“No,” Inara says. “But it could be hard to find.” It’s a blown glass cup, elaborate patterns worked in swirls of bright color. There’s a very light, very sweet brandy mixed in with the blood on the floor. Inara cleans that up with the blood.

Simon inspects one of the larger pieces. “Bolivar work?”

She smiles. “Yes. The younger ones.”

“My parents had a window made by the old Bolivar,” Simon says. “Just one window – but it was the most beautiful window in the house. Wasn’t it, River?”

“The planets revolve around the sun,” she says, peering around one of Inara’s hangings the same way Mal does. “On an ellipse. Not a perfect circle. Common misconception.”

His smile has an edge to it. “Do you have somewhere I can put this?” he asks Inara.

She gestures at the trash disposal, which runs on a separate system than the rest of _Serenity_. It’s hooked into the ship right now, though, to save her trouble.

Simon carries the broken glass over, wrapped up in a spare piece of bandage, and dumps it in the disposal. “It’s late,” he says, and glances around for a clock. “Well, it’s early, but – we should go. Do you need anything –?”

“No, thank you,” Inara smiles. “You’ve done more than enough.”

He nods. “Come to me when you need me to take the bandage off,” he repeats, and adds, “Good night,” before gathering up River and leaving.

There’s a dark spot on the carpet where the blood was, but that’s just moisture. It will dry, but if the stain remains, Inara will have to find something to cover it, or just replace the carpet. She has a few that might do the trick, but this is her favorite one. She toes the fabric regretfully and goes to change for sleep.


End file.
